I Do (sometimes called Communion)

I wrote this song in one go of it. I was sitting home alone in an apartment in Seattle. I was trying on all of my hats—I have an extensive collection now hidden away in different parts of the northwest. As sunlight streamed a golden haze into the living room, I sat on the couch wearing a 1920's wedding veil—it had an embroidered cap, long blue ribbons hanging from the temples, and an elegant train of spider web gauze. I was thinking about my dear friend Sol and his Erin who were about to be married a few weeks from that day. Thoughts and images of what it means to love where sifting through my brain—I was thinking about the relationship between Love, Sacrifice, Sex, and Spirituality and what they mean to me. I usually write songs just with my voice. To this day, this song is still the only song I've written with an instrument in hand. I'm lucky I happened to have a tape recorder nearby—having already developed a habit of recording my stream-of-conscious improvisations—I picked up my mandolin, wearing the wedding veil and sang this song as is. Songs like this are gifts from the universe—the music and meaning is already there—I was lucky to be a conduit for it's manifestation.


Some folks ask for a more specific explanation of this song's imagery, and, for them, follows this attempt at dissecting my own, though I have no idea if the dissection proves to aid in communicating the huge umbrella of mood and sensations as the song itself does through, at times, ironically-specific and specifically ironic imagery stemming from my experience as a young Catholic.

The first stanza—the body—is meant to symbolize how something like a kiss can dissolve a person—something so simple and possibly momentous—how any form of sensuality can make one physically weak and lose one's sense of current self—this stanza is an order to taste me and make me yours as easily as letting a communion wafer dissolve on your tongue—with the same amount of reverence, no matter how fleeting, or lasting, it may be.

The second stanza—the spirit—furthers that image yet highlights the spirituality of such a moment—an order to call one's spirit into the lover's via a meeting of flesh—the physical exchange which happens between lovers.

The third stanza—the blood—is of course the third part of one living experience—this visceral exchange of loving and making love and the potential power at play in such exchanges. Again, a visceral command is made, invoking spiritual and physical sacrificial imagery comparing the effects of such spiritual ceremony to the effects of making love.

The fourth stanza admits to the feeling folks often seem to associate with a lover—the feeling of redemption or validation, or, in this case, salvation—via some kind of witnessing, a communion, a sharing, or a union of spirit via flesh.

The fifth stanza—as much as it is an admission of the speaker feeling not familiar enough with this other, regardless of the presence or absence of love—it is also an homage to the search itself—the seeking to truly know an other. These few questions are images of spiritual inspiration—I am asking here what drives a person—do they feel a presence beyond themselves in any way? What inspires them? What do they seek and for what do they hunger? Or is something chasing them to or from a place, and what do they call it? What is this person's equivalent to God?

The sixth stanza is a further call to the lover to find within one what is primal and animalistic—symbolized here with the “devil's tail”--what some might call the cause of lust or even sin—exampled here in that emotional-physical hunger that can only be satiated by sexual satisfaction, such as—her put in less complicated, poetic, and meaningful terms—the climax of orgasm.

The order to “shave me” means to strip me of my hair, my beauty, my power, my recognizability—to make one new by the other's hand—“shorn me” suggests “as I have been before”. “Slice your sword into my belly”, is, I think, an obvious symbol of a violent invitation for intercourse, simultaneously comparing the sometimes physical pains of sex to the difficult choices and sacrifices we make to be with the ones we love. There have been times I felt like my body is what a man most desires from me—but he should know that along with it comes my heart, if even for moments—and along with that comes the propensity for great compromise of my own desires and dreams. Every relationship, every friendship, and especially any long-term amorous dedication calls for sacrifice and compromise from both parties. This song is an homage to the part of a lover's spirit that would do anything for the one they love—a testimony of the he or she who has indeed died and been reborn, whether in the momentary passion of love-making—or over a lifetime of relationship of love. Most times one trust the other and hopes that one's gifts and sacrifices are honored and appreciated—assuming that everyone is doing the best they can at any given moment—abut appreciation can never be the sole reason why one does anything—and whether or not we feel like we have choices, we do, and, whether or not we understand anyone's choice, we must honor them as that which is.

This song is saying yes to sacrifice and pain and surrender, but only through the hope of love does the singer say “I do”, for the singer says “if you love me, I would die for you”, yet immediately corrects that, without any response from the other, by saying “I do die for you”--admitting that whether the other wants it or not, or knows it or not, the singer has already been willingly crucified by his/her lover. I find the words “I Do” very powerful—the present tense of action—the words traditionally exchanged at most weddings I have attended. Here, saying “I Do” once is not enough—repetition of the phrase evokes the tumbling abandonment of the old path or the old self and highlights the helplessness of surrender, or strength of dedication or, perhaps more than anything, a fervent surety of self-awareness of what one has chosen to do and undo for the lover, this other.


Furthermore, who I refer to as “the lover” and what I refer to as “the other” doesn't have to be a literal lover—it is, in turn, further a symbol of anything outside and beyond oneself—it can be an ideology for which one is sacrificing the self. It could be an art to which one is dedicated. It could be an organization, a group, a family, a school, a community, a garden, a farm, a tall ship and her crew. . .

So. . . yep. . . this song not only compares an exchange of sex, but also compares a relationship of any length and of any kind to the crucifixion of Christ and the sacraments of communion and marriage—which itself is a symbol of exchange of flesh, blood, and spirit—and is meant to invoke all of the associations one could imagine.


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Do I believe in God? I can not say yes. I used to, very much so. I was raised Catholic and I found the imagery, ritual, stories, and song very powerful—they made me feel beyond myself and connected to something other, greater and unseen. I do not believe in God anymore, not like how most Christians mean the idea-entity. However the imagery obviously sticks with me—I still find it unbelievably powerful. One thing I do believe in? Love. I believe in the powers of energy and frequency we humans do not (yet) understand. I believe in each and every person's own power to grow and change and heal and love and transform. There are only the limits we imagine.

When I wrote this song, playing dress up and imagining all things in my living room in 2011, when this song came through me, from the ether and into my tape recorder, I still sort-of believed in God like I did when I was ten-years-old. By the time I recorded this song in a kitchen in Queens, NY, my concept of the universe, my many-faceted crystal of conceptual-understanding had finally tilted towards another place altogether, illuminating a realm where almighty gods do not exist and the importance of leaving things undefined and mysterious grows and grows. I'm still floating off in that direction—an area of belief where it is important to keep things vague, having seen how defining things, especially in binary--(such as Female vs. Male, Christian vs. Non-Christian, Good vs. Bad)--only limits each other and ourselves. It is frustrating sometimes to not be able to define something—for example, where would we be as a species without language, all its words as symbols and definitions?--but ultimately great power lies in surrendering to non-understanding. It is indeed wonderful to converse and study and learn and understand other people and concepts and facts of existence, but sooner or later there comes a limit to one's understanding—whether it is non-understanding with one's neighbor, one's ex-lover, or one's concept of spirituality—and what will you do then, when you have reached that fuzzy line of non-understanding? Will you make up a new, graspable explanation? What if you can't find any reason to explain that which you don't understand? I hope and aim to be able, one day, to accept and love that which I don't understand—trusting that I don't need to understand—not because God is understanding for me, but because I don't need to be able to do that which I can not yet do, nor may ever be able to do. When I reach my limit in a moment, the only choice that works to serve myself and, by proxy, mankind, and by proxy, all of existence conceivable and non, is to say “Well, that's that, and so it seemingly must be in this moment.” To accept it, not nihilistically nor with defeat, but to accept it in good faith that what is, is as it must be—and if it or he or she must be that way, then I can choose to love their way—a choice void of gods and boundaries and definitions and a way void of understanding—a choice to walk gracefully with the mysterious and to admit that Unknown and Mystery are not only as real as, but significant parts of, Love and loving.

xoxo—k kunkel


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If you believe in God, I honor you and I honor your belief. I hope that these statements about not-believing in an omniscient father personality do not cause you distress. If you believe in God, I am sure that whatever He means to you, He is still looking after me, though I see and call Him a very different thing.

If you want to have a discourse with me about spirituality, or if my writings above implore you to share any thoughts with me, I would very much welcome such a thing! Although I have little practice in discussing such matters of the heart and soul, they always arrest my interest—indeed I would further presume that it is my greatest interest in life: to seek understanding of another's perception of reality; how their mind, soul, and heart feel and reel through the universe; how they navigate, understand, and process the world; how another finds or seeks meaning, inspiration, fulfillment, peace, and happiness, and so on and so forth! As always, I am interested to anyone's reaction to what I share, so feel free to write me. Though I can not promise to respond how you might wish, and, truly, situations come where I feel unable to respond at all, I can promise to always accept messages and input with deep gratitude and intent to respond with respect and love any and all persons deserve.

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